When Is a Dream Worth Following? A Reflection on Growth, Gratitude, and Meaning

Hi there! How’s it going with you?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this whole dream thing. If humans are wired to always look for the next best thing—if we are built to chase the idea of “true happiness”—how do we ever know when a dream is something to follow versus something to simply feel and release?

Is it all just biology? Survival instincts whispering there must be more?

Or is it perspective—that we could be happy doing almost anything, if only we choose to see it the right way?

These questions live at the center of my mind lately. I have a good job. A steady job. A job that pays well and has supported my family for decades. But throughout the day, in those tiny moments between tasks, I find myself drifting toward a completely different life: running a small children’s bookstore.

I know I’m not alone in this dream, especially among educators, and I’m no doubt romanticizing it—imagining warm wooden shelves, story hours with kids curled up on beanbags, handwritten staff picks, the smell of new books and coffee. I’m sure there’s plenty about it that’s tedious or stressful or financially terrifying. So should I not try? Should I stay safely where I am?

Or should I take the risk, knowing it could be awful… or wonderful?

When I’m spiraling, I sometimes joke that I should ask Google what to do. Google’s general advice? Focus on growth. Practice gratitude. Find meaning where you are. Not too bad, actually.

So I decided to actually try that. Here is what came up.

My Growth

I have grown. A lot, actually.

I graduated high school, graduated college, and moved across the country. I landed a job right away and stayed—somehow—for twenty-six years. I started as a teacher and eventually moved into administration.

I was a good teacher. I can say that now without hearing it as bragging. Not perfect, but good.
As an administrator, I’m… okay. Competent. Still learning. But here’s the catch: it’s not what I’m curious about learning anymore.

I’m curious about writing.
I’m curious about running a small business.
I’m curious about working with my hands and my heart at the same time.

Sometimes I feel guilty about that, like I’m abandoning the field of education at a moment when it desperately needs people. But I’ve spent years trying to make change, and so often it feels like the world has taken ten steps back for every two forward. Maybe that’s why I’m tired. Maybe that’s why I’m craving something new.

Still, when I zoom out, I can see my growth:

• I’ve grown in confidence.

• I can speak in front of a group now, even if I still script myself to death beforehand.

• I’ve grown as a leader and a listener.

• I read more.

• I’ve grown as a parent—still imperfect, but better than before.

• I’ve grown as a partner—also imperfect, also better.

And reflecting on my growth has nudged me to see where I still want to grow:

• To be more vulnerable.

• More honest—with myself and others.

• More comfortable in my own skin.

• Kinder.

• More observant.

• More generous with compliments.

• More present as a mom.

Maybe growth itself is pointing me toward something.

My Gratitude

This part was surprisingly easy.

I’m writing this on my son’s desk, looking out at our big backyard in West LA. The house is quirky and old but it fits us. My son is off at college and thriving. My younger son is flourishing in his own way too—kind, smart, respectful. Good humans.

I’m grateful for my partner, who is steady and kind and, most importantly, loves to watch the same shows as I do.

I’m grateful for our two ridiculous dogs, who make the house feel warm and chaotic and alive.

For the weather.
For my health.
For my friends who meet up often and escape on weekend getaways.
For the art supplies scattered around me.
For the soft music, and the warm air blowing through the vents, and the beautiful mug sitting in front of me from a local ceramist holding the delicious coffee that came out of the fancy machine my parents gifted us who have always been so generous.

I have support. I have stability. I have love.
These are not small things.

And maybe this is why I’m even able to dream. Maybe my gratitude is what gives me the courage to imagine something else.

My Meaning

When I think about meaning, the simplest answer is this:
My meaning in life is to be a good mom, partner, daughter, sister, friend. To help, guide, support, and give.

And the truth—the uncomfortable truth—is that my current job doesn’t feel aligned with my meaning anymore. I don’t feel like I’m guiding or helping in the way I used to. I feel like I’m drifting, like I’m needed somewhere else.

And maybe that “somewhere else” is a children’s bookstore. Not because it would be glamorous or easy or profitable. But because it would let me connect with children and stories in a new way. Because it might bring joy and meaning to others, and maybe to me too.

So… Is This a Dream or Instinct?

I still don’t know the answer.
Maybe none of us ever fully know.

Maybe the real question isn’t:
Is this dream realistic?
But:
Is this dream calling me toward a truer version of myself?

Maybe the dream isn’t the bookstore.
Maybe the dream is growth.
Maybe the dream is meaning.
Maybe the dream is allowing myself to imagine something different after twenty-six years of being something else.

And maybe, just maybe, the dream is worth listening to—not because it’s guaranteed to be wonderful, but because it’s mine.